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The feed cut to the bus that had been "rescued."
"Yes! He saved the passengers! But what about the bus? Totaled! The insurance company's probably in tears—and screw this road too!"
The camera pulled back: Anthony had left two deep footprints where he'd stood at the rescue site, the surrounding floor spider-webbed with cracks.
"He doesn't care about damage—only whether his precious hair got messed up!"
"We reviewed the Battle of New York: Homelander's 'collateral damage' was worse than those damn alien bastards!"
"He's just a muscle-bound… blond jackass! A menace to New York!!"
"I, J. Jonah Jameson of The Daily Bugle, will keep exposing his crimes!"
Anthony watched the tirade with a blank expression.
"Ding! Popularity gained: –105."
"Ding! Popularity gained: –98."
"Ding! Popularity gained: –112."
"…"
"Ha…" He chuckled.
"Haters…" he murmured.
"Same damn blowflies, in any World."
In his previous life as a Best-Actor king, hadn't he been blackened plenty?
"Jameson… The Daily Bugle…"
Anthony's gaze chilled.
"You're right, pal—I don't care about losses. Question is, why'd you have to say it out loud?"
He knew he wasn't DC's red-underwear cousin.
He had no invisible bio-field to cushion everything he touched.
Saving people hinged on pinpoint control of his strength.
But physics is physics. Catch a falling human at supersonic speed and they're still paste; he could only slow himself as much as possible.
"Looks like… starting my own media company just moved to the top of the list."
He needed a machine to steer public opinion—one that could paint black white and turn justice into a business.
Anthony's lips curled in an icy arc.
"But before that…"
…11 p.m.
Only the top-floor editor-in-chief's office was still lit.
J. Jonah Jameson, cigar clenched, ranted into the phone, spraying spit.
"What do you mean no evidence?! I saw it with my own eyes! That tights-wearing egomaniac—flying, shooting laser beams from his eyes—biggest threat ever!!"
"Shut up! You're fired!!"
"What? You're my boss? …Fine, we'll talk tomorrow!"
Jameson slammed the receiver, grabbed the whiskey and chugged.
He still remembered the Battle of New York—his brand-new Mercedes sliced into four neat pieces by Homelander's eye-beams.
And the bastard insurer refused to pay—alien invasions counted as force majeure!
He'd teach this lawless "Superman" a lesson.
"Cowards… wimps… this city doesn't need gods—it needs me, J. Jonah Jameson, to tell them—"
"Mr. Jameson?"
A gentle yet spine-crawlingly out-of-place voice sounded behind him.
Jameson's hair stood on end.
He spun around.
There, in the middle of the office, stood Homelander—calm, unruffled, the daily front-page star.
The perfect smile he wore for cameras was gone, replaced by an expression of… nothing.
As if he were looking at a bug.
"H-how did you get in?!"
"Walked straight in, Jonah—may I call you Jonah?" Anthony stepped forward.
"D-don't come closer! Don't call me Jonah, you—monster!"
"They can't hear you, Jonah." Homelander smiled, X-raying the floor below.
"Security's watching Saturday Night Live reruns—volume cranked."
"What do you want?!" Jameson grabbed the ashtray.
"Touch me and the whole World sees your true face tomorrow!"
"True face?" Homelander laughed, picking up the copy of The Daily Bugle.
"Arrogant tyrant? Star-spangled demon?"
He shook his head, disappointment worthy of a trained actor.
"Jonah, I saved thirteen people in that building, I saved the NYPD cowering under gunfire, I saved this city—and you sit behind a keyboard attacking me with… this?"
"Everything I wrote is true!"
"Oh?"
Anthony vanished.
Jameson felt a vise on his throat as he was hoisted into the air.
"L-let go, you Nazi!!"
"Came to discuss ethical journalism," Anthony said pleasantly.
"But you're not the Jonah I thought. Changed my mind."
"I've decided… to show you a bigger World."
"You… can't… cough… do this… You're… a hero…"
"So now I'm a hero?" Anthony grinned.
Crashing through the far window, he shot into the New York night, Jameson in tow.
"Aaaaargh—!!"
Icy wind and weightlessness swallowed Jameson.
Anthony rocketed straight up like, well, a Rocket.
One km… five… ten. The air thinned; Jameson's screams became hoarse wheezes, eyes bloodshot.
"Jonah!" Homelander had to yell over the roar.
"Look down—how's the view, Jonah?!"
"P-please… one more chance… I've got a daughter…"
"What do you think?!"
Anthony flashed a wicked grin.
And let go.
"Nooo—!!!"
Jameson, ace editor of The Daily Bugle, began his free-fall.
"fuck! fuck! fuck!!"
Flailing meant nothing.
Death clutched his heart.
Clouds screamed past.
Below, New York's lights spread like a giant web ready to swallow him.
"H-help…"
No sound came out.